


Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

by MrsSaxon



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Don't know if Pride and Prejudice rip offs count as original characters, Eventual Amy Dyer/Philip Wilson, I am shameless, If you don't like Simon as Mr. Darcy you're wrong, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform, Predictable Pride and Prejudice fic, Sort-of, first person POV, no sex sorry, pride and prejudice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren Walker isn't too keen on starting another romance after that last one. But when three high-profile guests come to town, things might just change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What do you mean 'someone who is already a published author has a book called Pride and Prejudice and Zombies'? Well, mine's much better because it's an In the Flesh fic and that, by default, is better.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a rabid in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

From my experience as a rabid, that’s true. But after neurotryptaline, the brain craving dies down and you can go about your daily business like the living. Well, maybe not quite like the living. Given that we don’t eat or drink or even sleep and we’re fairly impervious to everything, all we have to occupy our time is work and… relationships. This I don’t relish because I have a busy-body mother who is eager to see me off and married and I have a terrible history with relationships.

My last boyfriend was shot by his own father. To this day I don’t know if it was because he was gay or dead. But either way, that’s the sort of experience that would sour relationships for you for years to come.

But my mother got wind of these ULA members in town and insisted Jem and I go. Luckily, my BDFF, that’s ‘best dead friend forever,’ is coming too. Her name is Amy and she’s the one who comes up with the mad acronyms.

“I’ve heard he’s one of the thirteen apostles,” she whispers in my ear, as she drags me down to the old farm house, “and that he’s terribly good looking! Uh, I can’t wait to meet him!” She jumps for joy.

“I can’t wait to find out if the Undead Prophet’s cronies are as ludicrous as they sound,” I say.

“Don’t be harsh, Kieren. The ULA are the one’s defending our rights. You shouldn’t stick your nose up at them before you’ve even met them. We could learn a lot from them.”

“Yeah, alright, alright… I’ll listen.” I’m still not convinced, from what Jem’s said, the Undead Prophet has been providing Blue Oblivion, the stuff that makes you go rabid, and I’m not about to get behind anyone wanting to go rabid again.

There’s supposed to be three representatives here, a non-PDS sufferer, but someone sympathetic to our plight, Cara Bingley, her brother who is a PDS sufferer John Bingley, and a Mr. Simon Monroe who Amy is so excited to see. They’re meant to be going on some public relations tour, educating the counties about the rights of PDS sufferers and holding demonstrations.

“Do you think he’s very handsome? No, best not get our hopes up, he’s probably old and awful… oh, but what if he is?” Amy sighs, never a dark cloud in her happy thoughts.

I smile, “Well, you can have first crack at him if he is.”

“Why, thank you,” she curtsies, hand on her heart.

We’ve finally arrived, the big barn is well lit, but with few seats. Jem and I would rather stand in the back, but Amy pulls all the way to the front, crowding the make-shift platform stage.

After some commotion and rippling through the crowd, three people make their way onto the stage. One is clearly living: her makeup done to accentuate her rosy complexion, her smile is practiced so it doesn’t look forced. She sticks close to another man, who I assume to be her brother. His smile is easier, his face good-natured and pleasant, open even. He comes in his bare skin and even without the glow of life, he looks handsome. The third is almost austere, his white eyes piercing into the shadows of the room. His bare face is like a dare, a challenge to anyone to tell him he doesn’t have the right. This must be the revered Simon Monroe.

Amy leans close and whispers in my ear, “Wow” before they start to talk.

“Thank you all, thank you all for coming and thank you for having us. From what we hear, Roarton isn’t exactly fond of the risen,” Simon speaks, spreading his arms to conduct the crowd, “I’m glad you found the courage to invite us anyway.”

“And we’re glad to see friends and relatives too,” Cara interjects, “we have to include everybody to move forward.”

Simon gives her a curt nod, “We’ll get to more of that later. Now, let us introduce ourselves. I am Simon Monroe, I’m an apostle of the Undead Prophet and a member of ULA.” He turns, stepping back slightly to let the others introduce themselves.

“Hello, I’m John Bingley,” he grins, “I rose in Nottinghamshire and I am a member of ULA.”

“And I’m Cara Bingley, John’s sister, and we’re here to show that our communities need to be rebuilt on trust and cooperation. I come with my brother to show this. We, the living, need to be willing to help the risen get back on their feet, to forgive them their actions in their untreated state and…”

Cara pretty much ran the show from that point on, explaining how the risen and living need to form an allegiance, rebuild trust and friendship, et cetera. Mr. Monroe, who was so commanding in the beginning, sulked behind them, neglecting to speak up during the Bingleys’ presentation.

After it’s all over, there’s a bit of time to talk and socialize.

I turn to Jem, “What’d you think?”

“Seems alright, better than the Victus scheme anyway. It is important that we trust one another, make you lot human again.”

I smirk, “Maybe you’re the ones who need to be made human again, eh?” I nudge her with my elbow. Jem gives a small smile, then heads for the punch.

“Kieren Walker.” The voice I just heard on stage calls behind me.

I turn, trying not to look as surprised as I feel, “Yes, Mr. Monroe? Can I help you?”

“Simon, please,” he steps in close, “I was told I should especially make your acquaintance.”

I frown, “By who? Why?”

“Oh, making friends are we? Progress, Kieren, progress,” Amy, sweet Amy, intervenes with perfect timing, “Amy Dyer,” she holds her hand out for Simon.

“Simon Monroe,” he shakes it firmly, “I like what you’ve done with your face,” he gestures to Amy’s bare-faced look.

She giggles, “Thanks, it just suits me better. That awful makeup just feels like a mask, no reason to wear it if I want people to see who I am.”

Simon’s line of a mouth quirks up for a moment, “Perhaps you should try convincing your friend Kieren of that.” He makes a sort of bow, who does that, and wanders off to mingle.

I stare at his back and I know my eyes are narrowed, “Where does he get off telling me how I should feel about my own face?”

“C’mon Kier’, he’s got a point though. You shouldn’t feel like you need to fake it,” Amy hangs on my arm.

“I’m not, I just want to… see my own face when I look in the mirror,” I take a deep breath, not wanting to get angry. I turn to face her.

“Soooo, what you think? Is he handsome or is he _handsome_?” Amy beams like the sun.

I can’t help but relax a little and agree, “He is easy on the eyes. Can’t say his personality is worth it.”

Before we can leave, John Bingley blows a loud whistle, “Hey, everyone! On Friday, we’re hosting a big party here, everybody come! Bring guests, friends, living or deceased! We want everybody to get together!”

That’s my Friday spoken for then.


	2. Chapter 2

In my best duds and off to the party. For this one, they actually managed to rent out town hall, some councilors weren’t too pleased, but the word is the color of the Bingley’s money soon changed their minds. What business do some loaded Southerners have coming up here to ‘make relations’? Why not just pack up to some private island, free of the prejudice and dissension?

Well, I’ll have to scrutinize their motives another time because for now, it’s off to the party with Amy and Jem. There’s a good mix of living and deceased when we get there, everyone dancing and partying. There’s a small margin of food for those breathing, but not so much as to be offensive to those not partaking. Very considerate of them.

Amy dashes off into the dance floor and Jem manages to escape, weaseling out to the fringes. “Traitor!” I call after her, not positive she can hear me.

Before I’m totally submerged in the throng, I scan around for our hosts. Cara is shaking hands with people coming in, being a good little politician. John’s enjoying the party, dancing with everyone else. And Mr. Simon Monroe is… standing off to the side, lurking of course, and staring… at me.

My nose wrinkles in confusion and I’m glad Amy’s there to distract me from the unsettling moment of eye contact. Those white eyes still freak me out, that’s why I wear my contacts constantly. Those eyes they don’t look… they don’t look human.

I dance, or rather, wiggle in place, with Amy until the music gets too annoying and I break for air.

“You having a good time?” John Bingley shouts in my ear, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great to see everybody together, getting on,” I nod at him, smiling.

“Simon thought it was daft, but I told him it’d work,” he grins brightly and runs back onto the dancefloor with my sister, of all people. And she’s smiling and all! It’s been so long since I’ve seen Jem smile like that.

“I didn’t think it was daft.”

I jump, startled by Simon’s low voice on my other side, “Simon! Oh… didn’t you?”

He steps even closer, even though I can hear him perfectly well from where he was, and shakes his head. “No, I just pointed out we wouldn’t be able to get much done amongst all this… frivolity,” he gestures at the beating motion of people having a good time.

I arch an eyebrow at him, “Well, maybe people are more receptive to your message if you let them relax and get to know you a little first? Bonding encourages trust, being a standoffish preacher, doesn’t.” I mumble “excuse me” and weave my way back in, even though I don’t really want to dance. It’s still better than hanging out with Mr. Staring Contest.

I make a point of keeping my head down like I’m into the beat just to make sure our eyes can’t meet again. After awhile, I search for Amy. I can’t seem to find her when there’s a gap in the crowd and I can see her talking to Simon. There she is, laughing and twirling her hair and he looks just as stern as ever. Who could look serious around Amy?

Slipping out of the crowd again, I look for Jem. She’s not dancing either but at the refreshment table, sipping a drink and talking with Cara. Not the best company, but Jem’s still got a smile on so that’s enough for me.

“Kieren! Come ‘ere, c’mon!” Amy sneaks up and grabs my wrist, pulling me down to waist level and circumnavigating the room.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, aware that this is a covert operation.

“We’re spying, dum-dum, I want to know what Simon thinks of us,” she pulls me behind the doorway so no one can see us and peeks over it.

“…I think the party’s very successful. Good turnout, got warm bloods and no bloods to come, isn’t that what we want?” That’s John Bingley’s voice.

“Hosting parties and walking in parades is not what I came here to do, John. We need to change the citizenship laws now, but we’re clearly wasting our time in this town as no one wants to listen.” Simon, obviously, and angry sounding. It was odd how even-tempered his normal voice sounded in comparison.

“C’moooon Simon, all work and no play makes everyone cranky and unwilling to listen. What about that Kieren you wanted to talk to?”

There was a pause. “Not worth my time.”

Amy stood away from the doorway, “Ouch…what a prick, you were right.” She backed up against the wall, looking down, “I’m sorry, I thought he was going to confess undying love for you,” she smiled her little self-deprecating, sardonic smile, “Just goes to show you what I know.”

I shake my head, “It’s fine, didn’t like him anyway. No reason to let this ruin a good party though, c’mon.” I take her hand and sprint back onto the dancefloor where we make fools of ourselves doing every cliché dance move we can think of. It is terribly good fun though. And no Simon Monroe can touch that.


	3. Chapter 3

I was all ready to forget about Simon Monroe, despite Jem getting quite close with John Bingley, who’s alright really, if a bit too enthusiastic for me. I even tolerate him calling me Kier’ which very few people get to do. Jem’s been so happy though, you can tell if you know her. She wears pretty things in her hair and drinks less.

She sits by the window, pretending to read as I walk up behind her, “It’s a good book, is it?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah! S’great!” she smiles vacantly.

I chuckle, “What chapter you on?”

“Ummm… eighty- no that’s page number, sorry, er, seven,” she shifts, flipping the pages to find her ‘place’ again.

I roll my eyes, “Sounds enthralling.” I lean close and whisper, “Waiting by the window won’t make him come any faster.” I grin with a wink.

“Shut up, I’m not waiting for anyone,” a flutter of pages again, “this is just the best light to read by…”

Fortunately, there’s a knock on the door just then, “Heeey Jem! Cara wants to drive down to old town Roarton, want to come?” My sister lights up like she was attached to an electric current, “Coming!” She rushes for the door and with a lightning fast goodbye, is gone.

I shake my head, but smile after the ghost of her. Going through the rising, her dead brother coming back, having to unpack all that baggage has turned my baby sister into a grown up. Or at least someone trying to reconcile her grown up-ness with her childishness. Can’t be easy. But what do I know, I’ll be nineteen forever.

Yes, I was all ready to forget about Simon. Amy still attended the meetings and brought back all the news so I wasn’t missing anything by avoiding him.

Apparently, in a strange turn of sanity, the ULA are focusing their energy on the legislature instead of mindless gnawing and are trying to gather enough force to repeal the Citizens United Against PDS Sufferers (the Risen) Act. This act is what declares us non-citizens; according to it, we give up our citizenship when we die, despite the fact that countless soldiers and war casualties are shipped home. It also states that we cannot work for pay under federal law and also cannot make any legal purchases since tax laws don’t apply to us. It’s a bogus alienation scheme riven with paranoia and misunderstanding. It may have been at one time security, but now it is frustrating and insulting.

I was born, died, and rose here, I think I deserve to call myself British. I have to give the ULA and even Mr. Monroe credit for fighting against something patently unfair.

But the bliss of forgetfulness was not to be because the Bingleys, and Simon, are staying in town for the local fete. And guess who is going to have to go with his barmy best friend, lovestruck sister, her boyfriend, and his sister and best friend? Aren’t social occasions the best?

The fete’s tomorrow so at least I have time to prepare.


End file.
